


Breaking the Cycle

by Enigma13



Series: Becky/Charlotte One-shots [9]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Celtic Becky, F/F, Historical AU, Not sure about my historical accuracy, Roman Charlotte, Roman/Celtic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma13/pseuds/Enigma13
Summary: Charlotte is forcibly taken from her home in the dead of night during a Celtic raid on a Roman Outpost in Britain. She is to be executed as a sacrifice to the gods, but an unlikely ally comes and saves her. Now the property of her mysterious savior, Charlotte must learn to navigate her new situation. However, is there more freedom with her owner than what she's used to as the restricted lifestyle of a Roman General's daughter?
Relationships: Charlotte/Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox
Series: Becky/Charlotte One-shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/568480
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Breaking the Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I've had this idea since before Wrestlemania 34 when Becky came out in that Celtic style ring gear. I've been working on this here and there since, until my hiatus. But I finished it up and here it is! Hope you enjoy it!

They came at night. Charlotte had been asleep for hours when she was awoken by the heat. Then everything hit her at once: the smell of smoke, the screams of the dying, the clang of metal on metal. Their compound was under attack.

Charlotte had been against them moving out to the wild frontier of the isle of Britain, but her father took any land that he could squeeze out of whatever crazy man-child held the title of emperor in Rome. It just so happened that there was lots of land and native people to exploit here, so her father hadn’t wasted any time to move them out here. 

The Isle was untamed, only held in check from a tribe of the most brutal and sadistic Celts by Hadrian’s Wall, only several miles north of here. It wasn’t safe here and she had known that, but she hadn’t expected an attack at night on their settlement. Charlotte sprung out of her bed, not knowing what to do, just knowing that she either had to hide or find some soldiers to protect her. She didn’t have a single thing that could be used as a weapon in her room. That wasn’t her fault either, she had begged her father for something, but he just said that it was not proper for a Roman lady to have such things, especially not any daughter of such a successful general. 

She debated opening the door and trying to make a break for it, but there was a better chance of her going unnoticed if she just stayed in her room, with the lights off and pretended that there was no one here. Those savages were more interested in the soldiers that would fight them back, she hoped.

The sounds of battle grew steadily closer as Charlotte’s heart sped up and crept up to her throat. She stayed tucked behind her cot, hoping that the soldiers would simply drive them back, and then she could go back to sleep and rid herself of these terrifying possibilities. 

Her hope died not ten minutes later as the door to her room was kicked open by a big boot. The blue painted face of a Celtic warrior appeared, eyes locking on her. She stood stock still. No matter how much she screamed at herself, she couldn’t will her body to move. The warrior moved in, sword raising before a voice stopped him. Charlotte’s eyes looked over to another warrior, this one smaller, but with swirls painted on his face, that almost looked tattooed on. Charlotte heard him bark something in their guttural Celtic language and instead of being cleaved in two by the claymore of the first warrior, her wrist was gripped roughly and she was tugged up and pulled out of her room, still clad in just her night-dress. She tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. She tried to scream, but the rest of the settlement was in flames, and pockets of soldiers were fighting against one another and her cries for help went unheard. 

She was pulled out of the broken down gate, where the Celts had broken through where a cloth of some kind was thrown over her head. It was pitch black around her now, and she could only hear the distant sounds of fighting, until she felt a rough hand grab her wrists and begin tying a rope around then. She tried to struggle, but she was struck in the side of the head by what she figured was a hand, and then before she could regain her wits, the knot was finished and she was tugged along, away from her settlement, father, and life she had known. She was led, stumbling and tripping, through the wilds as they walked for miles and miles. She couldn’t tell which direction or how far they had traveled, but it seemed like it had taken all night.

The cloth was unceremoniously ripped off, some stew was thrust into her hands, and she only could watch at the warriors celebrated with breakfast after killing so many of the people she had lived with and taken her prisoner. She couldn’t find her appetite, even though she knew that she would need it for whatever parts of the trip lay ahead. She forced herself to eat the stew, and as soon as she was done, the dark cloth was placed back on her head. 

This pattern repeated for three days. Charlotte’s feet were sore, and she was sure that there were blisters and cuts all over them, but they gave her no rest when she asked for it, either not understanding her or not caring. It was only when the pattern was broken, did Charlotte know that her long trek was over. In her mind, they still had another couple of hours before they would stop, but when she felt them slowing their pace and changing directions slightly, she began to worry what awaited her when they arrived where they were going.

The covering was pulled off her head after they had hauled her up on some kind of platform. When she finally was able to look around at her surroundings, she began to panic. She was on a raised platform, in what seemed to be the middle of the woods. A giant oak leaned over her, as well as her captors. In front of them all stood a group of onlookers. These Celts looked much less threatening, they were wearing furs, carrying no weapons, and seemed to be civilians and farmers.   
Her observations were interrupted by a robed man, his face completely painted in the Celtic blue face paint. Charlotte tried to shy away from him as he came closer to her, but she was held in place by her captors. She tried to pull away from them as she realized that the priest, she assumed it was some kind of priest, held a knife in his right hand. He grabbed at her chin and forced her to look at him. He seemed to examine her before releasing her just as quickly. He turned to those assembled and began speaking in the Celtic tongue. Charlotte couldn’t follow what was happening, or what was being said, but the crowd assembled started to get fired up. They began shouting back at the priest, either cheers or arguments against him, and Charlotte began to feel an increasing sense of dread, as her captors tightened their grip on her.

The priest held up his knife and the crowd cheered. Her captors began to drag her against the oak tree, pressing her against it and spreading her arms out. Charlotte tried to struggle against them, but to no avail, and the priest crept closer and closer with the knife. Charlotte couldn’t watch, she closed her eyes, thought of home, thought of her family, thought about what could have been of her life. She felt the cold iron of the dagger press against her throat, ready to spill her blood and allow it to drip onto the roots of the great tree, until a loud and distinctly feminine voice spoke out.  
It was still in the Celtic language, so she didn’t understand it, but Charlotte felt the dagger retract from her neck and she finally opened her eyes. There was someone else making their way slowly up the platform. It was a Celtic woman, with orange hair, a bow and quiver of arrows, as well as an ax on her belt. It was a nasty looking weapon, one that was blunt and weighted at the top and curved down the handle a ways like a crescent moon. The blade also seemed engraved and well taken care of. Charlotte was momentarily stunned by both how warlike and beautiful this Celtic woman was. Her eyes never seemed to leave Charlotte’s as she moved towards the priest. She spoke, loud enough for the crowd behind her to hear, and Charlotte could tell the priest was debating and thinking on her words. The woman motioned to the side where Charlotte could see a well fed bovine. Finally the priest moved aside, Charlotte’s captors released her hands, only to tie them in front of her again, handing the lead to this orange haired Celt. She tugged Charlotte, none too gently off the raised platform, and through the crowd. There were jeers from the onlookers, Charlotte could not tell if they were directed at the woman for ruining the show, or at her for being a Roman. 

Charlotte did not know from which direction she arrived, but she knew that this woman was now taking her Northwest and through the woods. She stepped with confidence through bushes and around trees, and now being far enough away from the crowd of onlookers, Charlotte was not so much being led as walking alongside the woman. There had been silence, Charlotte was dying to ask a thousand questions, but this woman spoke Celtic, and none of the others at whatever that performance was had spoken one lick of Latin. Charlotte was about to simply muscle down her need for questions about who this woman was, why she had taken Charlotte, why they had been about to kill her, and more when the woman spoke in Latin.

“There is a river ahead that we must go through if we are to make good time. You will need to change afterwards if you do not wish to catch your death from the cold. I have spare leathers in my pack.”

Charlotte actually stopped in her tracks, only to be tugged forward by her lead. “You speak Latin?”

The woman gave her a look from over her shoulder that made Charlotte shut her mouth. Like she was offended that Charlotte didn’t think she could speak her language. They carried on, Charlotte trying to think of anything to say now that she actually could be understood. Finally, she heard a sigh from the woman, who then spoke again.

“I can feel you trying to contain yourself. Ask your questions.”

Charlotte couldn’t help when she responded with a hasty question. “Who are you?”

“My name in your language translates to Rebecca. Though, I usually go by a nickname, a shortened version of it, Becky.”

Becky. Charlotte rolled the name in her mind, and found that she rather liked it. “What was all that back there? Why did you save me? They were going to kill me!” It all was beginning to set in on Charlotte, but the lead on her wrists kept her steady, despite the feeling of freezing cold seemed to slip down her spine. 

“Sacrifice you, actually.” Becky said simply.

“How is that any better?” Charlotte asked incredulously. 

Becky shrugged, as if this wasn’t a huge deal. “It is to appease the gods and thank them for a successful battle.”

Charlotte tried to refrain from rolling her eyes. “And my other question? Why did you save me?”

Becky seemed to pause, as if in thought or fear of saying too much. “Those warriors that brought you back were fools. To truly appease the gods they needed to bring an animal, or a Roman soldier… not whatever you are.”

Charlotte felt the sting of her words, but kept silent whatever retort she might have. “And why would they listen to you?”

“My father used to be the chief around this area, and me being his daughter, my words still have some weight. Though, I’m sure that you wouldn’t understand anything like that.”

After a moment of letting the sting of disrespect sink in, she quietly asked her next question. “Where are we going?”

Becky again seemed to pause before replying. “Home.”

“But, you saved me? Aren’t you going to… take me back?”

Becky scoffed. “Are you dense? They’d kill me. Even if I took you close enough and let you meet them without me, I don’t have dealings with the Romans. Not anymore.”

Charlotte felt the hope that she’d see her father again, or any of the people she knew, completely snuff out. She didn’t even know if he’d survived the raid. “What does that mean for me?”

Becky looked over her shoulder again, something like sympathy and understanding in her eyes, but it was quickly gone when she turned back around to keep walking. “Celtic law says that I own you now. I gave a fair trade for the sacrifice, plus more than what you would be worth with one of my cows.” Charlotte felt even more fear creeping into her heart at exactly what the connotations of owned were to the Celts. “But, luckily for you, I have no need of a slave, so you won’t be treated like one. However, because of the law, and what you will be perceived as, you must not leave my grounds without me, or they’ll kill you. Or worse, if you do something stupid, they’ll kill me.”

“Why would they kill you?”

“You’re my property to them, so if you steal or kill, then it was under my watch, and I am responsible for it.”

Charlotte went quiet, thinking about everything Becky had said. “You don’t view me as your property?”

“No. I have no need for a slave. I am a Celtic woman; I can take care of myself.” She glanced behind her again. “That being said, you are under my protection, and I expect you to carry your own weight.”

When Charlotte didn’t respond immediately, Becky stopped and turned to her, bringing her ax out. Before Charlotte could even react, the bonds around her wrists were cut. “Now that we have an understanding, Roman, I trust you won’t do something stupid.”

She moved to continue on, expecting Charlotte to follow her. Charlotte bit her lip and spoke without moving. “Charlotte.”

The orange haired woman paused and turned back to her. “What?”

“My name. It’s Charlotte.” She stared back into Becky’s eyes, trying to read them but finding the task impossible. However, after tense stand off Becky turned back around. 

“Very well, Charlotte. The river is just up ahead. Prepare yourself.” 

Crossing the river was surprisingly easy, despite Charlotte never having done anything like it. The water was cold and soaked through her night dress in no time as the water rose to her chest. Becky didn’t flinch crossing the river, her leathers seemed to be treated to not fall apart when wet and seemed to also keep her warm. When the got to the other side, Becky stopped and knelt, opening her pack, pulling out some leathers that seemed to have the same stitching as hers, and then offered them to Charlotte.

Charlotte went behind a tree to change into them, feeling odd as this was not her usual attire of soft Roman fabrics, but she found the leathers modest enough for her liking as well as surprisingly warm. When she came out from behind the tree, she couldn’t help but notice Becky’s gaze lingering on her from time to time. She formed back up behind the Celt and they silently began to make their way from the river towards wherever Becky’s house was located.

It took them another hour or so before Charlotte saw a few buildings looming. It looked like some sort of farm. It had a field where she could see various plants growing, a building that seemed to be a barn or stable of some kind, and then a small stone and wood structure that seemed to be the main home. It wasn’t large, but it definitely did not fit with what she had been taught that the Celts lived like. It looked welcoming and homey.

Becky did not stop to admire it, but her shoulders seemed to drop any stress they had on them and it put Charlotte slightly at ease. They walked closer, and Becky moved into the house, setting her bow and quiver down at the door stop. Charlotte entered a little more tentatively. She saw that the house was well taken care of. It had the basics, a table and chairs sat near a sort of fire pit where some crude iron pots and drying our herbs were hung near. There were wooden plates, as well as crude cutlery. Tucked away on the left and on the right were beds, small, but covered in warm looking furs. They looked like they had been treated differently than the fur that Becky wore on her leathers. Charlotte hoped that she would be able to wear something a little warmer while she was here.

Becky stood in the middle of the room, finally turning to look at Charlotte. “I will grab something for us to eat for the night. Remember what I told you and stay here.” She peered to one of the bedrooms. “That,” she pointed to emphasize her point, “Is where you will sleep. Tomorrow, I will get you more settled in with clothes, and what I expect you to help with, but it is late and we will eat and sleep before we worry about such things.”

The longer that Becky talked, the more Charlotte realized how stilted her Latin was. It was like she was speaking before the Senate, incredibly formal and lacking in casual rhythm. Before Charlotte could ask, Becky grabbed her bow and quiver again, moving out the door in a swift hunter’s gait.

Charlotte resolved to learn more about her ‘owner’ when she returned, if she could, and then she’d find out a way to make this work. Her father was always the decision maker of her life, and Charlotte had always found a way to be somewhat happy and content with whatever came her way, despite some of his less wise decisions. She would do the same here, and simply trust in the gods that some good would come out of this for her.

It took Becky a couple of hours to return. But when she did, she had been able to kill a couple of rabbits. Charlotte gave her an impressed look. 

“You hunt quickly.”

Becky looked up, as if just remembering Charlotte was there. She paused in her steps for only a moment before going over to the fire, that Charlotte had brought to a nice warmth while she had been gone. “My father taught me well. But, don’t be too impressed. These were caught in my traps from yesterday. This late, no good game near here. I’ll have to go for some more meat tomorrow.”

Charlotte took that information silently. She didn’t know exactly what she could speak to Becky about. She seemed fond of silence, but that might just be the bad blood between their people, so Charlotte thought she might as well try and see if she could get her captor talking.

“Your father taught you? Does he live nearby?”

Becky was cleaning the kills, but then she stopped for a long moment, and Charlotte didn’t have to see her face to know she’d probed too far already. “He’s dead. It’s just me here.”

Becky’s tone wasn’t angry, just sad. So Charlotte chanced another question. “Was it…” She wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “Us? Romans?”

Becky gave a glance behind her shoulder. “Yes. It was a while ago.”

Charlotte bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

Becky shrugged. “He chose to fight them and he wasn’t good enough to win. Plus, I doubt you were the one to kill him, so you have nothing to apologize for.”

“You really expect me to believe that you don’t hate us for everything we’ve done?”

Becky seemed to sigh with exasperation, like she’d had versions of this argument before. “If we keep hating, then this… war will never stop and everyone will be dead. Plus, you all aren’t worth the energy.”

Charlotte chuckled at that. Becky actually fully turned around at that, obviously surprised by her reaction. Charlotte waved her off. “Sorry, sorry. I just, I’ve never liked the way that we run our military. My father was a general, and always tried to tell us that we were helping people by putting them under Roman rule. I never bought it. We let our own people suffer while we take on even more and more areas that hate us for it. Why not focus on defense and building a strong nation that will people will follow willingly?”

Becky tilted her head. “You are different than most, aren’t you?” She turned back around to her rabbit stew. “And did you ever fight?”

Charlotte scoffed. “Funny.”

“What?”

Charlotte quickly realized that it had been a serious question. “Oh… well, women weren’t allowed to fight. So, I never got the option.”

Becky turned again, “Why were they not allowed to fight?”

“That’s just the way things are.”

"That is not a good reason to justify something.” Becky sighed. “I guess this means that you don’t know how to shoot a bow?”

Charlotte felt a flush come over her face. “No… I don’t.”

Becky watched her for a second. “Tomorrow, you’ll do the chores around the house then, while I hunt.”

Charlotte was about to protest when she was stopped by a raised hand from Becky. “When I return, you’ll help me dress the meat and then, you will learn to use a bow.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yes. You need to contribute. The Romans may not use their women to their abilities, but I have no such qualms.”

“Okay.” Charlotte didn’t want to show just how excited this made her. An added bonus to being adopted/held captive by a Celtic warrior woman was that the expectations of her as a woman had been altered and thrown out the window. She could possibly have more freedom in captivity than she could in her old life.

Becky then turned back, scooping out some of the finished stew, offering it to Charlotte. “Eat. You’ll need your strength tomorrow. I’m not a kind teacher.” Charlotte shivered under the intensity of her hazel gaze. The look in her eyes was one of determination, so Charlotte believed her, so she took the bowl of stew and brought it to her lips. Tomorrow could not come quickly enough.

Not only did Becky make good on her promise the next days, but continued to do so over the next several months. Charlotte quickly grew into being able to fend for herself around the farm. Learning the bow, and then to hunt properly, took far longer. It led to a lot of hungry nights, Becky saying that being hungry was motivation to improve. Charlotte had hated her in those moments, but now seeing how far she’d come to being almost self reliant she couldn’t argue with results.

Becky had slowly warmed up to her. They’d speak of their cultures, though keeping their pasts relatively brief, and get to know one another. It didn’t take long before Becky’s impressive, yet limited knowledge of Latin ran out. So, Becky had, after some begging from Charlotte, began teaching her the Celtic language. And with Charlotte’s old schooling, she was able to catch the gist of it rather quickly. 

It was around this time that Becky allowed her to accompany her to town to pick up supplies and she heard the whispers about Becky. The people seemed to talk about her almost reverently, but at the same time with sadness, as if they pitied her. She didn’t have the courage to ask Becky about it until a few weeks later.

“Those people in the village when we go to the markets.” She saw Becky’s shoulder’s tense. “They whisper about you, but I don’t know why.”

Becky was silent for a while, her face resembling the mask of the woman that had saved Charlotte from being a sacrifice to the gods, and not the smile of a woman who could joke and laugh louder than anyone she knew. “It’s because of what happened to my father.”

“Killed by Romans?”

Becky licked her lips, leaning forward, and resting her elbows on the table between them. “I didn’t lie to you about that… but there is more to the story.”

Charlotte saw the defeated look on Becky’s face and hesitated. “You don’t have to tell me, but if you want to… I’ll listen.”

Becky grunted. “No, I want to… we’re friends of a sort now.” Charlotte had to restrain herself from a blinding smile. It was true that there was respect between them that almost felt like they were simply roommates of Becky’s homestead, both chipping in to make life easier on their collective whole. 

“The Roman Wall went up, trapping us away from others of our kind on the other side. They got the benefit of being free and living their life free of Roman influence, but we were unlucky and were trapped behind. My father didn’t want to let this stand. He tried to stage a sort of breakout to get to the other side. It wasn’t about battle at first, he tried the diplomatic approach, but they rebuffed him. When all else failed, he took many of our best warriors try to overrun it.” Becky looked up with haunted eyes. Charlotte didn’t need to be told that Becky had been one of those people. “It was a bloodbath. Without support from the other side of the wall, we were outnumbered, and it was a killing field until I had to sound the retreat after my father fell. We fled back into the fields and retook our homes. We’ve stayed nice and silent for years since then… until you.”

“Until me? The attack on the fort, you mean?” Becky nodded in agreement and then they elapsed into silence. Charlotte wondered why their time of forced peace came to an end, which led to her being here. Were the Celts restless again? Did they still want to get to the other side of the wall? 

“They were stupid to provoke the Romans. I’m surprised that they haven’t come to repay the violence with their own yet. Especially if you really are the daughter of a general.”

Charlotte hummed. “My guess is that they need permission from Rome. That’ll take time. Plus, the raid probably busted through quite a bit of defenses around the perimeter. My father would want to make sure those were patched and that he was ready with more troops before moving.”

Becky raised her eyebrow at her. “You know much about this even though you do not fight.”

Charlotte shrugged, her lips smiling coyly. “My father may have been able to keep a weapon out of my hand, but he couldn’t stop me from browsing his books on military strategy or listening in on meetings where they discussed it.”

Becky let out a quiet hum that almost sounded impressed. “That’s how I learned Latin.”

Charlotte frowned. “Books?”

Becky shook her head, her orange hair glowing brightly in the fire. “No, listening in on meetings. I was quick and stealthy when I was younger, and my father used to use me to listen in on Roman meetings. I picked up Latin quickly. Though, as you know, not completely. Which is why I’m thankful that you learn languages quickly. Your Celtic is getting to be exceptionally good, lass.”

Charlotte flushed under the praise. “Like I said before, I would have loved to learn weapons training, but because I could not I through myself into other studies.”

Becky smiled at her, though it was small. “Your hard work shows.” 

No one had been this accepting of Charlotte’s hard work before. Her expectations back home had simply been to be available to marry off and be able to produce offspring. Here, with Becky, while she had to pretend in town to be a model slave for Becky, at their homestead her expectations were equal to that of Becky. She needed to help provide meat from the woods surrounding their place, taking care of the animals, and maintaining tools through construction. She could be capable without limits here, and that meant a lot. So much, in fact, that she’d begun to feel freer under “captivity” than she ever had under the scrutinizing eyes of her father.

They moved together, comfortable in their shared space. Charlotte began stoking the fire, knowing that as the darkness came, so did the cold. As she was squatted down at the fire, she felt Becky’s present behind her. Charlotte let her stare for a moment, not knowing why the usually brusque and direct Celt was pausing.

“Why haven’t you left?”

Charlotte didn’t turn around, not just because she wanted the shock on her face to leave, but because the way that Becky had asked that question was so different than any tone of voice that Charlotte had heard her use. Her voice was gentle, not accusatory, and even seemed to break a little at the end.

“Why would I?”

She heard Becky exhale heavily behind her. Frustrated that her question had been answered by a question no doubt. “Your life there is easier. You wouldn’t have to work half as hard as you do for me. People would see you as something else other than property.” Her voice was growing louder and more accusatory as she progressed. “I’ve left you alone enough times that you could have used the tracking skills I taught you to escape easily. Are you just trying to lead your father here so he can punish us? Are you waiting to get vengeance? Why are you really still here!?”

Charlotte rounded on her, hackles up. “Don’t you throw that in my face! You know nothing about me! You say that I’m better off there? Under all the expectation and scrutiny that I never wanted? Out here, I can show how capable I am! You say I’m property out here, but in there, I’m worse. I’m a fucking bargaining chip for some man I don’t know to play against my father as they jockey for position, damn what I want!” She could feel the angry tears rolling down her face, as she moved closer to Becky, pointing a finger into her chest. Becky looked stunned, her eyes wide and lips parted as she darted her vision to everywhere on Charlotte’s face. “I finally get something I want with someone who respects me! And now you’re going to accuse me and pity me!? I don’t think so! I’m not going to take that from y- “ 

Charlotte’s rant was cut off abruptly by Becky dodging her finger, moving into her space. Before Charlotte’s question could leave her lips, Becky’s own lips were on them. The kiss was frantic and passionate. Charlotte couldn’t find it in herself to keep her indignation and anger up and melted into it. Her hands grabbed at Becky’s muscular shoulders, pulling her along as she backpedaled to her bed. The soft pelts felt cool on her skin as her leather clothing was torn from her top. Becky’s soon followed, and as they pressed against each other on the bed the feeling of skin on skin would have been enough to make Charlotte’s heart sing.

The way that Becky kissed Charlotte had even changed. It was less messy and frantic and now had dissolved into a searching pace as Becky seemed to want to pull every secret from Charlotte with just her lips. Becky’s hands were everywhere, while Charlotte was simply trying to hang on to Becky’s shoulders with everything she had so she wouldn’t get swept away by the deluge of what was happening to her.

Becky traveled down Charlotte’s body, meeting the rest of her leather clothing, systematically removing what she encountered until Charlotte lay bare, hair frazzled and eyes watching with anticipation. Becky’s eyes finally flickered up and connected with Charlotte’s eyes. Charlotte tried to convey what she was feeling, even though she wasn’t sure what that might be. But she wanted; oh, how she wanted whatever it was.

Becky watched her with hunger for a few moments, and when Charlotte didn’t seem to be pushing away or running, she kept the eye contact and ducked her head down to where Charlotte needed it the most.

Morning came and, to Charlotte’s pleasant surprise, Becky was asleep on her chest still when she woke up. She had never woken up before the other woman, in the months that she had been here. Waking up to see the usual hard expression smoothed away into peace, was something that Charlotte knew she would never get tired of seeing. Her hand came up and brushed the orange locks that were splayed across her. 

It didn’t take long for Charlotte’s ministrations to make Becky stir. Charlotte watched the entire process of her waking up and loved how her eyes scrunched shut even tighter as if to will herself into continued slumber before they blinked open and blearily looked at Charlotte. 

“Good morning.” She said softly.

She watched a small smile form across Becky’s features. “Good morning. Are you…? How…” Becky searched for the words. 

“I’m great.” Charlotte smiled at her, trying to chase any doubt or fear away from the other woman’s mind. “No regrets.”

Becky smiled at her again, this time much bigger and freer. She leaned up and gently pressed their lips together again. It was soft, barely there, but oh it made Charlotte ache for more. “Come. Just because we have new happiness does not mean we can ignore what things need to be done.”

Charlotte faked a groan, following as Becky got up. She did not hide her stare at the other woman’s naked form, which did not go unnoticed. Becky smirked at her, playfully rolling her eyes, though it didn’t seem like she truly minded as she made no rush to put on any of her leathers. 

Charlotte made no hurry of it either, wanting to bask in this afterglow of a morning; wondering how their lives together might have changed after last nights activities. And as she finally was ready to walk out the door and present herself to this new day, Becky’s hand caught her, pulling her back in for a dizzying kiss that was sure to hold her over the rest of the day until they could come back together. Already an exceptionally good change that Charlotte would have no problem adapting to.

After this change in their relationship, Becky was more open. Laughing boisterously and telling stories with aplomb and volume that Charlotte hadn’t seen from the woman before. It seemed she had been holding back a lot in the months before as she tried to grow more used to not only Charlotte’s presence, but the strange feelings that had been simmering between them unknowingly. 

The days were brighter now, seeming to pass in bliss. Some days were still hard. There were still misunderstandings, but they worked through them. Becky still taught her foresters skills along with hunting until Charlotte could match her in everything. She was always patient, and always let Charlotte handle herself without being overbearing. She gave positive reinforcement when she needed to and most importantly, she trusted Charlotte with knowing her limits.

All in all, they were happy; until the Romans came. They were having dinner when they heard the screams. Becky was up out of Charlotte’s arms before Charlotte had even fully woken up. She was throwing on her leathers before Charlotte did the same, but Becky’s hand stopped her. Charlotte looked up into fierce eyes. 

“No. You stay here, stay hidden.” 

Charlotte glared back at her. “What about you?”

“I’m faster than them, I can lead them away from you. They won’t catch me.”

They stared after one another before Charlotte shook her head. “I’m not going to hide again. I’m going with you. End of discussion.”

Becky stared at her for a few minutes before nodding. “Alright. Stay close in the woods. If we get separated, meet back here. Just don’t be stupid, okay?”

Charlotte nodded and threw on what was left of her clothes. She grabbed her bow that Becky had helped her whittle and her quiver of arrows. They darted out the door. The orange glow from the nearby village outlined the treetops and made it easy to see even in the early morning hours. They could hear the clash of metal now and Charlotte sucked in a breath. This had to be her fault.

Becky didn’t seem to be as concerned about the why and more concerned about the how. She pulled Charlotte towards the far woods. They stopped at the edge, Becky pulling her close and into a fierce kiss. “Stay with me.” Then she let go of Charlotte’s hands and darted into the woods. Heading towards the fighting, trying to get around it so that as the Romans made their way towards Becky’s homestead, they’d be behind them and less likely to be seen or sought for, was the plan, but it was also risky. There was a greater chance that they’d be seen until they could get all the way around them.

The woods were a blood bath. Bodies were lying in broken positions that Charlotte tried not to stare at. She could see flashes of silver and red armor and could hear the footsteps all around her. She tried to keep her mind and eyes on Becky. She was so fluid in her movements from years in these woods and even with training, Charlotte had tough time keeping up. 

It was only because she was focusing so hard on Becky that she saw the trouble before Becky did herself. The clearing they were heading to was filled with Roman soldiers, and Becky couldn’t stop her momentum in time to turn away. She looked back at Charlotte. Her eyes showed every single ounce of emotion. An apology, fear, and determination. 

Charlotte felt fear flow through her as tears pricked her eyes. She came to a stop as Becky now stood in the clearing, swords pointed at her while she placed her hands up in surrender. Charlotte watched as her father dismounted and came towards her lover. They spoke softly. Becky shaking her head, lying about Charlotte no doubt, in an effort to protect her.

Her father looked disgruntled. Pulling his gladius from his hip, moving to cut Becky’s throat before Charlotte couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop!” 

Swords pointed her way now, as she placed a placating hand between herself and her father. Becky’s eyes looked pained and furious. Had she really been willing to die to protect her? Where did she get off on doing that for Charlotte? “Father please, don’t.”

Her father stopped looking at her. “Put your swords down men. We got what we came for.” He moved quickly and embraced her, though it felt hollow. “I’m glad we found you. I’m sorry we couldn’t come for you sooner. You must be hungry, and sick of these savage’s treatment. I will take you home where you belong, and you will be alright.” 

“Sir,” one of the soldiers spoke up before Charlotte could say anything. “What about this one?”

“Kill her.” 

“No!” Charlotte shouted before the soldiers could move. “Father, I’m begging you don’t do that.”

Her father looked at her strangely. “This is the one who has you as a slave, yes?”

“Well, technically- “

“You’re right.” He seemed to nod.

“I am?” Charlotte was surprised. Her father was not a lenient man.

“Yes. An example must be made. Bind her. She will face public execution for thinking she can own a Roman when she is not even fit to own the beasts of the field or the land she stands on.”

Charlotte’s blood went cold. Becky’s eyes met hers and offered a small smile. A try for reassurance as her bow was taken from her and her hands were bound tightly and uncomfortably by rope. Charlotte couldn’t do anything as she herself was steered by her father to his chariot and pushed on.

“It is a long ride to the wall; sleep and you will feel better from everything you went through I’m sure.”

“O-of course, father.”

But Charlotte didn’t sleep at all.

She tried breaking through with her father the next several days, even taking to camping out in front of his office, but all of her concerns or opinions were credited as “female hysteria” and she was rebuffed at every turn. Even worse, she couldn’t even go into the prison to see Becky. The guards would turn her away, on order of her father. She didn’t even know anything had been decided until one of the maids let it slip while try to make Charlotte eat.

“I’m sure after the execution today, you’ll finally eat better knowing the one who put you through such torture is gone, ma’am.”

Charlotte shot up. “Execution? Today?” She grabbed the woman by her clothes, drawing her up. She really should thank Becky for all the extra muscle she gained while training. “When?”

The woman looked alarm that her feet were lifted off the ground. “A few hours, but ma’am- “Charlotte dropped her and darted out of the room. She frantically made her way through the courtyard. She felt her heart beat quicker at the sight of the hastily constructed gallows. She felt herself stuck in one place staring at it, imagining Becky’s body hanging lifelessly from it. She couldn’t abide that image and ducked behind a building, vomiting what she could from her stomach. It was too much to take. Charlotte had to do something, she had to save Becky. 

She wiped her mouth against her sleeve and looked around. She needed to calm down and think. Just because she was back in the fort, under her father’s thumb, and dressed like a Roman, didn’t mean she had to act like the demure woman that her society tried mold her into. She needed to remember the training she got from Becky. 

She took in the open gate, about eighty yards from the gallows, the chariots parked near on the other side of the gate. If she could somehow cover them to the gate and have something already prepared for them to get out of here, or at least Becky, then she could make this work. 

Her eyes darted around, her heart growing in hope as she started to piece together the essentials of a plan. The only thing that she needed to do was to prepare and hope that Becky could trust her. 

Becky hadn’t had the best few days. Between the harsh treatment, the lackluster food, and cleanliness that led her to question if the Romans were civilized at all, let alone that they were the peak of it. She knew she wouldn’t have to endure it much longer. The guards had made that abundantly clear with the noose they’d hung on her cell as a taunt. She had refused to give them the satisfaction of reacting or talking at all. Even though she desperately wanted to ask for Charlotte, she doubted it would be granted and she would not face death with fear or begging. She would face it with dignity and a little bit of regret from not having seen that beautiful set of blonde locks and kind face one last time. The selfish part of her wanted to see Charlotte in the crowd, but she wouldn’t wish watching a loved one’s death on anyone, especially someone she herself loved. 

The stomp of feet stirred her from her lounging position, and she stood up. It was time. She refused the arms of the soldiers, walking with poise and dignity without their assistance, no matter how much her knees were shaking. They led her with hands on their blades outside into the evening. It was a clear sky and the air was cool on Becky’s skin. It was a nice night to die. 

She kept her eyes forward, not paying attention to the jeers and excited faces of her tormentors. She refused to give even an ounce of satisfaction to them. She was walked to the gallows and stood in front of the crowd. She supposed she should be listening to the man next to her as he read out whatever charges they’d decided to place on her, but she couldn’t even bring herself to do that. She completely tuned out and focused on happier thoughts that would make her last moments worth it. She felt the noose go around her neck and tighten around her throat.

She counted down in her head, watching the executioner place his hands on the lever, pull it, and felt her stomach drop. Then her feet hit the dirt under the gallows as the rope snapped. She looked up seeing and arrow embedded in the post, having split the rope enough for her weight to snap it. She heard a cry of pain as the executioner fell back with an arrow in his shoulder. She heard the drawing of swords as men began to look around in confusion. Becky was looking around in confusion as well, and she caught the glimpse of white silk as she rolled towards the edge of the gallows. 

There, standing with her hand out was Charlotte, dressed in fine Roman silk, only marred by the fact that she had a dusty quiver over her shoulder, and a bow clutched in her other hand. Becky took her hand, standing up before Charlotte placed herself in front of her. When Becky looked past her shoulder she could see why. At least fifty Roman archers were trained on their position, ready to fire, but Charlotte, being the daughter of their general, was stopping them from raining hell down on them.

“Back towards the gate entrance. I’ve got a horse waiting there. You take it and head north. You’ll be free and you can get far enough away that they can’t hit you, and they won’t follow you.”

It was so refreshing to hear Charlotte softly speaking the Celtic language to her that she almost didn’t register the entirety of the plan. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not the one they’re trying to execute.”

Becky couldn’t help the snort that made its way out of her mouth. “Fair point.” She looked each way, making sure that she kept herself behind Charlotte. Trusting her to know what she was doing. 

“Nice shot by the way. Must have had a rather good teacher.”

Charlotte smiled, even as she kept the bow string pulled back with another arrow notched, training it on anyone who tried to step closer. “She’s alright. Snores really loud at night though, which makes her early morning teachings hard to sit through.”

Becky grinned, slipping back into their banter, though catching the sad tinge to Charlotte’s words, like the Roman might be savoring this both because this could be the last time it happened, and because it was easier than dealing with whatever inner turmoil she was dealing with. “You can’t prove that.”

Charlotte huffed out a laugh, obviously paying more attention to Becky than to her father, pleading with his daughter to stop this foolishness. “Almost there.”

And they were. Becky looked around at how far they had gotten, about twenty feet from the stable. A horse was tied up there, and Becky turned, and began to climb on. She turned, offering her hand out to Charlotte, even as Charlotte turned and cut the horse loose, spurring it on with a slap from her bow. Before Becky could cry out, the horse reared and charged forward. Without Charlotte.

Becky watched helplessly as Charlotte’s sad smile became smaller and smaller behind her as the horse began to dash away from the fort. Becky couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away from the woman that had come into her life, spent every night with her, showed her that everyone, even spoiled Romans, could make themselves something with hard work and respect; the woman she loved was slipping through her fingers. 

“No!”

She pulled hard on the reigns and turned the horse, still going full tilt, to circle back to where Charlotte was turning to face the men sent out to “rescue” her. Becky didn’t know the Roman punishment for treason, but whatever it was, Charlotte didn’t deserve it. As she got back within range, the arrows began flying, she ducked down, keeping close to the horse, as she felt the wind around buzz as if swarmed by bees. 

She neared Charlotte, who had now heard the hoofbeats approaching, turned to look at her with panic and confusion. Becky didn’t wait as she grabbed Charlotte’s arm and used every ounce of strength left in her body to haul her up and behind her on the horse and making a wide turn through the soldier, bowling most of them over. She felt Charlotte wrap her arms around her from behind and press her head in between her shoulder blades.

“You came back for me.”

“Of course, I did. I love you, you stupid Roman.”

As the horse continued its mad dash, she felt Charlotte reach around and tilt her chin back towards her. Becky followed pliantly and was met with a deep and passionate kiss. It was fierce and spoke of everything that they would have time to say later. How Charlotte had been as terrified as Becky that day, how Becky was desperately angry for Charlotte not coming with her from the beginning and trying to send her off, and how thankful they each were to each other for what they’d each done.

By the time they stopped for air, they were far enough away that they couldn’t hear the shouting anymore. They slowed the horse down to a more manageable pace. They both sank against one another in relief and let the adrenaline seep out of them as they continued to put distance between them and the frontline of the Roman Empire.

Charlotte spoke up first. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“You’re amazing.” Becky agreed. “I’m so glad you’re with me. I’ve never been north of the wall.”

“Me either… Where do we go?” She asked curiously, obviously Becky had some plan in mind. She did. Kind of.

Becky smiled, pulling her in for another deep kiss. “Wherever we want to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you all thought, I worked pretty hard on this, so if you have any comments please post them so I can do even better on my next one!


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